In Your Scent
by coldcoffeestains
Summary: 'His thumb gently brushes the sharp edge of her cheek bone and she feels the tears prickling in the back of her eyes again. An ever present companion since she walked out of that front door three weeks ago.' What if Kate is still there when Castle comes home? Episode insert for 8x05, The Nose.


**A/N:** I wrote this in a haze, therefor I'm sorry for mistakes. It's an episode insert for last nights episode, 8x05, The Nose. I'm sure this kind of story will be written multiple times and I still hope you enjoy my words.

* * *

 **In your scent**

She drops his shirt the moment she hears the key in the lock, folds it between her fingers, holds it closely against her thighs while the soft fabric caresses her skin – a poor substitute to the man who belongs in the shirt, a poor substitute to her husband. But otherwise she's not trying to remove herself from where she's sat at the foot of the bed.

"Beckett?" He calls out, like he knows she's here. He does probably, smelsl the her lingering scent in the air over the pathways she walked to their bedroom. He's not Mia and neither is she, but she can smell him too. He's everywhere, just not where she wants him too. He's here and in her senses but her own poor replacement of an apartment, something she's refusing to ever see as a home – home is only here, with him – is free of him. He's not in the sheets or in his clothes lying around or his after shave on the bathroom counter. He's nowhere and she hates it.

That's why she crumbled at the first place. She planned on making it quick, just in and out, grabbing a few more things she needs before she can even register what she is doing, before she gets the chance to fall apart in her own home. She kept the breaking down for later, in a small one room apartment that is cold and impersonal with no pictures on the walls – except for the one of him from way before they've gotten together that she keeps like a treasure in her nightstand – she likes it like that, wants it like that.

That was until–

Until she walked past the couch and spotted his shirt lying there. Worn and ready to go into laundry, he always threw his shirts there before he put them away. Always, and it is mildly comforting to know that at least that hasn't changed. Despite the fact how annoyed she sometimes is... was because _it can't be too hard to just put them away instead of storing all your shirts here, Castle._

The shirt smells like him, deeply and thoroughly and all she wants is to crawl into his side of the bed and not think for a while.

The blanket ruffles underneath her thigh as she turns around, faces away from the door she can hear him approaching. He changed the sheets since she left.

"Kate," he says from behind but she only turns when she feels his hand on her shoulder, warm and piercing and she has to suck in a breath to keep herself from breaking down. She cried far too much within those past few weeks. "Are you alright?" He asks with a weird look on his face and it's only then that she realizes that she has tears on her cheeks.

She reaches up a hand to brush them away, lets his shirt fall to the ground, it pools between their feet and he is close, she can feel his breath on her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she says not meeting his eyes, "Sorry, I didn't intent to–," she breaks of awkwardly, points to the bed and shakes her head in embarrassment. "I didn't plant to stay that long– I don't wanna bother–"

He breaks her off with a gently hand on her arm when she tries to move around him, stills her in her tracks.

"It's okay, really," Rick says with a small smile on his lips and she just wants to fall into his arms. Soon, she tells herself. Soon it'll be over and she can come home. "You want something to drink or are you hungry? You know, I never got to finish my dinner," he's winking at her and she's too tired to hide the smile that makes it's way to her lips.

"Rick, I don't think that's–" but he's already grabbed her and pulls her into the kitchen along with him.

It's not good, she shouldn't be here, it's dangerous and if people know... she shouldn't be here. But he's moving towards the espresso machine and she just can't say no. Cannot not stay when he looks at her with those big eyes, expectantly, a small smile on his lips with the knowledge that she'll stay. If at least for a little while.

"Mother ordered take out earlier but then well, you know what happened, it's still untouched. Chinese, she didn't get your favorite though, he looks at her with apology in his eyes, I could make something else, cook–"

She interrupts him with a small shake of her head. "It's fine, really. I'm not very hungry." She knows the look he's giving her right now, has seen it a million times before. It's something like worry and understanding, it's neither taunting nor filled with pity. It's one of the reasons why she fell for him.

Her breath catches in her throat when she feels his fingers on her cheek, not sure when he moved closer. His thumb gently brushes over the sharp edge of her cheek bone and she feels the tears prickling in the back of her eyes again. An ever present companion since she walked out of that front door three weeks ago. His thumb wipes under the thin skin of her eye, the same spot she so carefully tried to conceal this morning.

And she knows, he shouldn't be the one comforting her and she shouldn't relay on him like that but she leans into him a little until his fingers curl around the shell of her ear and he drops his head to dust a kiss to the top of her head.

"You haven't been eating," he states instead of asking when he moves away from her, opens the refrigerator to pull out a few cartons of food before he places a hot steaming cup of coffee in front of her. She almost desperately grabs the mug between her fingers, that one cup he made her last week not enough to compensate for the way he spoiled her over those past years.

"I've had breakfast," she defends herself, knowing that a kale and banana smoothie more than twelve hours ago does not nearly fill her nutritional need. He knows that too, because he slightly shakes his head as he hands her a full plate of his favorite chinese food.

* * *

The dinner is familiar and foreign at the same time, helping to mend the gaping ache in her heart momentarily, full well knowing it will crash on her later.

They laugh, they actually laugh together and it almost makes them forget that this can't happen again, that they shouldn't do this. She grabs his hand, absentmindedly, like she did so many times before when she tells him a story and he laces their fingers together, the yearning in his eyes almost making her throw away her mission.

She almost chokes, tears in her eyes with laughter when she tells him how she had to lecture Ryan and Esposito, finding them in the bullpen earlier that evening, Ryan bent over yelling at his partner to just shoot him in the ass. It's been too long since they've laughed like that and it fills her with a warmth she's been missing.

Their plates are clean far too early and they both seem to feel that this is going to be the end of their evening, that their bubble is going to burst soon and that she'll leave again. The sadness in his eyes is back and she hates herself for being the reason the oceans in his eyes are more of a dull gray now, like a stormy afternoon.

"I can't... you won't stay any longer, right," she's not sure if he's asking or stating but she shakes her head anyway, looks at the empty cup of coffee next to their still enclosed hands on top of the table.

"I need to... my bag," she says before she gets up and walks to their bedroom to retrieve the duffle bag she left here earlier when he dragged her into the kitchen.

Her eyes fall to his shirt, currently wrinkling at the floor beside the bed. It's stupid and she probably shouldn't do it but she bends down and picks it up before she opens her bag to push it inside. Maybe it'll help her sleep tonight. And then she's crossing the room, opening the drawer and pulling out two of his tee shirts, the ones he wears to bed, they are faded and well worn, soft cotton that always enfold her body with a comfort her own clothes never could. She hasn't worn them in a long time, not since he came back, not since she had him beside her instead of a lousy substitute. Those were the shirts she wore last year when he was missing for eight weeks and all she had of him was his smell in some holey shirts.

She stuffs them along his other shirt, the button down and before she can think about it, she pulls one of her shirts out of her bag. It's old, just like his, one of her gray NYPD tee shirts she sometimes wears on lazy days, when there's nothing to do but muddling around in sweat pants. She lays it down on the bed and leaves their bedroom. Hopefully for the last time. The next time she comes back she intents to stay.

* * *

She finds him in the kitchen, he's waiting for her. A travel mug in his hand and she can't help but smile. He still makes her coffee, after everything she put him through he's still here making her coffee.

"Thank you for coffee and dinner," she tells him at the door and he nods. It's weird to tell him good bye at her own door, to leave her own home after a night of warmth and laughter to go back to to cheap version of a life she wants to lead, a life she had.

She's about to turn around and leave, trying not to look back when he speaks. "You know, earlier when I bought Mia home she said that you still love me." He looks hurt and hopeful at the same time.

"I do," she says without hesitation, lets the duffle bag fall to the ground and grabs both of his hands in hers. "I do love you, Rick. Always, that won't ever change," she hopes he can see in her eyes how honest she is, can feel the desperation in her fingers that she wants nothing more than to put this behind and come back home.

Soon.

"I don't know what's going on inside your head," he says and it breaks her heart, she bites her lip to keep from crying. It's not only about her, it's about him right now and she needs to be strong too.

"I never wanted to hurt you. All I... all I do is for you, for us."

"I know," he says but he looks small and in pain and she knows she shouldn't but she leans in anyway, captures his lips in a kiss and she's not sure whose tears she tastes. Her hands are on his cheeks, cradling the soft skin, the soft stubble underneath her fingers. His are on her waist, still gentle where the bullet grazed her weeks ago. She runs her tongue along his bottom lip once before she pulls away and grabs her bag from the ground.

"I love you," she says as she turns around, walks down the hallway not daring to look back at him, not able to survive the look she knows is on his face.

Soon.


End file.
